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The Rape of Lucrece Poem Text
Back to "The Rape of Lucrece" :::THE RAPE OF LUCRECE : TO THE : : RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, : EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD. :THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this :pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The :warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of :my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have :done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I :have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show :greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to :whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness. : Your Lordship's in all duty, :::WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. :::THE ARGUMENT. :LUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), :after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be :cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, :not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had :possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons :and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege :the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of :Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after :supper, every one commended the virtues of his own wife; among :whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife :Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; and :intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of :that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds :his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her :maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or :in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus :the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus :Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering :his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the :camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and :was (according to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by :Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth :into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the :morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, :hastily dispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, :another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one :accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; :and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause :of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her :revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and :withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent :they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the :Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted :the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a :bitter invective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the :people were so moved, that with one consent and a general :acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state :government changed from kings to consuls. ---- :From the besieged Ardea all in post, :Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, :Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, :And to Collatium bears the lightless fire :Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire :: And girdle with embracing flames the waist :: Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. :Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set :This bateless edge on his keen appetite; :When Collatine unwisely did not let :To praise the clear unmatched red and white :Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, :: Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, :: With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. :For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, :Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state; :What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent :In the possession of his beauteous mate; :Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, :: That kings might be espoused to more fame, :: But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. :O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! :And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done :As is the morning's silver-melting dew :Against the golden splendour of the sun! :An expir'd date, cancell'd ere well begun: :: Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms, :: Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. :Beauty itself doth of itself persuade :The eyes of men without an orator; :What needeth then apologies be made, :To set forth that which is so singular? :Or why is Collatine the publisher :: Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown :: From thievish ears, because it is his own? :Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty :Suggested this proud issue of a king; :For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be: :Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, :Braving compare, disdainfully did sting :: His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt :: That golden hap which their superiors want. :But some untimely thought did instigate :His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those; :His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, :Neglected all, with swift intent he goes :To quench the coal which in his liver glows. :: O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, :: Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! :When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd, :Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, :Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd :Which of them both should underprop her fame: :When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame; :: When beauty boasted blushes, in despite :: Virtue would stain that or with silver white. :But beauty, in that white intituled, :From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field: :Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, :Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild :Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield; :: Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,-- :: When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. :This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, :Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white: :Of either's colour was the other queen, :Proving from world's minority their right: :Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; :: The sovereignty of either being so great, :: That oft they interchange each other's seat. :Their silent war of lilies and of roses, :Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, :In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; :Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, :The coward captive vanquish'd doth yield :: To those two armies that would let him go, :: Rather than triumph in so false a foe. :Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue, :(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) :In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, :Which far exceeds his barren skill to show: :Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe :: Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, :: In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. :This earthly saint, adored by this devil, :Little suspecteth the false worshipper; :For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil; :Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear: :So guiltless she securely gives good cheer :: And reverend welcome to her princely guest, :: Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd: :For that he colour'd with his high estate, :Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty; :That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, :Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, :Which, having all, all could not satisfy; :: But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, :: That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. :But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes, :Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, :Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies :Writ in the glassy margents of such books; :She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; :: Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, :: More than his eyes were open'd to the light. :He stories to her ears her husband's fame, :Won in the fields of fruitful Italy; :And decks with praises Collatine's high name, :Made glorious by his manly chivalry :With bruised arms and wreaths of victory: :: Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, :: And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. :Far from the purpose of his coming hither, :He makes excuses for his being there. :No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather :Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear; :Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, :: Upon the world dim darkness doth display, :: And in her vaulty prison stows the day. :For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, :Intending weariness with heavy spright; :For, after supper, long he questioned :With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night: :Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight; :: And every one to rest themselves betake, :: Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake. :As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving :The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining; :Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, :Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining: :Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining; :: And when great treasure is the meed propos'd, :: Though death be adjunct, there's no death suppos'd. :Those that much covet are with gain so fond, :For what they have not, that which they possess :They scatter and unloose it from their bond, :And so, by hoping more, they have but less; :Or, gaining more, the profit of excess :: Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, :: That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. :The aim of all is but to nurse the life :With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age; :And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, :That one for all, or all for one we gage; :As life for honour in fell battles' rage; :: Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost :: The death of all, and all together lost. :So that in vent'ring ill we leave to be :The things we are, for that which we expect; :And this ambitious foul infirmity, :In having much, torments us with defect :Of that we have: so then we do neglect :: The thing we have; and, all for want of wit, :: Make something nothing, by augmenting it. :Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, :Pawning his honour to obtain his lust; :And for himself himself he must forsake: :Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? :When shall he think to find a stranger just, :: When he himself himself confounds, betrays :: To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days? :Now stole upon the time the dead of night, :When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes: :No comfortable star did lend his light, :No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries; :Now serves the season that they may surprise :: The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still, :: While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. :And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, :Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm; :Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; :Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm; :But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, :: Doth too too oft betake him to retire, :: Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. :His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, :That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly; :Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, :Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye; :And to the flame thus speaks advisedly: :: 'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, :: So Lucrece must I force to my desire.' :Here pale with fear he doth premeditate :The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, :And in his inward mind he doth debate :What following sorrow may on this arise; :Then looking scornfully, he doth despise :: His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, :: And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust: :'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not :To darken her whose light excelleth thine: :And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot :With your uncleanness that which is divine! :Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: :: Let fair humanity abhor the deed :: That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed. :'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! :O foul dishonour to my household's grave! :O impious act, including all foul harms! :A martial man to be soft fancy's slave! :True valour still a true respect should have; :: Then my digression is so vile, so base, :: That it will live engraven in my face. :'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, :And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; :Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, :To cipher me how fondly I did dote; :That my posterity, sham'd with the note, :: Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin :: To wish that I their father had not been. :'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? :A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy: :Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? :Or sells eternity to get a toy? :For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? :: Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, :: Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down? :'If Collatinus dream of my intent, :Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage :Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? :This siege that hath engirt his marriage, :This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, :: This dying virtue, this surviving shame, :: Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? :'O, what excuse can my invention make :When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? :Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake? :Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? :The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; :: And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, :: But, coward-like, with trembling terror die. :'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, :Or lain in ambush to betray my life, :Or were he not my dear friend, this desire :Might have excuse to work upon his wife; :As in revenge or quittal of such strife: :: But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, :: The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. :'Shameful it is;--ay, if the fact be known: :Hateful it is:-- there is no hate in loving; :I'll beg her love;--but she is not her own; :The worst is but denial and reproving: :My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. :: Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw :: Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.' :Thus, graceless, holds he disputation :'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will, :And with good thoughts makes dispensation, :Urging the worser sense for vantage still; :Which in a moment doth confound and kill :: All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, :: That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. :Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand, :And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, :Fearing some hard news from the warlike band, :Where her beloved Collatinus lies. :O how her fear did make her colour rise! :: First red as roses that on lawn we lay, :: Then white as lawn, the roses took away. :'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, :Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear; :Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, :Until her husband's welfare she did hear; :Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, :: That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, :: Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. :'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? :All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth; :Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; :Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth: :Affection is my captain, and he leadeth; :: And when his gaudy banner is display'd, :: The coward fights and will not be dismay'd. :'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die! :Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age! :My heart shall never countermand mine eye; :Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage; :My part is youth, and beats these from the stage: :: Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; :: Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?' :As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear :Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. :Away he steals with opening, listening ear, :Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; :Both which, as servitors to the unjust, :: So cross him with their opposite persuasion, :: That now he vows a league, and now invasion. :Within his thought her heavenly image sits, :And in the self-same seat sits Collatine: :That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; :That eye which him beholds, as more divine, :Unto a view so false will not incline; :: But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, :: Which once corrupted takes the worser part; :And therein heartens up his servile powers, :Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, :Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; :And as their captain, so their pride doth grow. :Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. :: By reprobate desire thus madly led, :: The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. :The locks between her chamber and his will, :Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward; :But, as they open they all rate his ill, :Which drives the creeping thief to some regard, :The threshold grates the door to have him heard; :: Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there; :: They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. :As each unwilling portal yields him way, :Through little vents and crannies of the place :The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, :And blows the smoke of it into his face, :Extinguishing his conduct in this case; :: But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, :: Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch: :And being lighted, by the light he spies :Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks; :He takes it from the rushes where it lies, :And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks: :As who should say this glove to wanton tricks :: Is not inur'd: return again in haste; :: Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste. :But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; :He in the worst sense construes their denial: :The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, :He takes for accidental things of trial; :Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, :: Who with a lingering stay his course doth let, :: Till every minute pays the hour his debt. :'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time, :Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring. :To add a more rejoicing to the prime, :And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. :Pain pays the income of each precious thing; :: Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands, :: The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' :Now is he come unto the chamber door, :That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, :Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, :Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. :So from himself impiety hath wrought, :: That for his prey to pray he doth begin, :: As if the heavens should countenance his sin. :But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, :Having solicited the eternal power, :That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, :And they would stand auspicious to the hour, :Even there he starts:--quoth he, 'I must de-flower; :: The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, :: How can they then assist me in the act? :'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! :My will is back'd with resolution: :Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried, :The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution; :Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. :: The eye of heaven is out, and misty night :: Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' :This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, :And with his knee the door he opens wide: :The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; :Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. :Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside; :: But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, :: Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. :Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, :And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. :The curtains being close, about he walks, :Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head: :By their high treason is his heart misled; :: Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon :: To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. :Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, :Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; :Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun :To wink, being blinded with a greater light: :Whether it is that she reflects so bright, :: That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed; :: But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. :O, had they in that darksome prison died, :Then had they seen the period of their ill! :Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side :In his clear bed might have reposed still: :But they must ope, this blessed league to kill; :: And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight :: Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. :Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, :Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss; :Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, :Swelling on either side to want his bliss; :Between whose hills her head entombed is: :: Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, :: To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. :Without the bed her other fair hand was, :On the green coverlet; whose perfect white :Show'd like an April daisy on the grass, :With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night, :Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, :: And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, :: Till they might open to adorn the day. :Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; :O modest wantons! wanton modesty! :Showing life's triumph in the map of death, :And death's dim look in life's mortality: :Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, :: As if between them twain there were no strife, :: But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. :Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, :A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, :Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, :And him by oath they truly honoured. :These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred: :: Who, like a foul usurper, went about :: From this fair throne to heave the owner out. :What could he see but mightily he noted? :What did he note but strongly he desir'd? :What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, :And in his will his wilful eye he tir'd. :With more than admiration he admir'd :: Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, :: Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. :As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, :Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, :So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, :His rage of lust by grazing qualified; :Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side, :: His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, :: Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins: :And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, :Obdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting, :In bloody death and ravishment delighting, :Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting, :Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: :: Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, :: Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking. :His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, :His eye commends the leading to his hand; :His hand, as proud of such a dignity, :Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand :On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; :: Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale, :: Left their round turrets destitute and pale. :They, mustering to the quiet cabinet :Where their dear governess and lady lies, :Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, :And fright her with confusion of their cries: :She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, :: Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, :: Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd. :Imagine her as one in dead of night :From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, :That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, :Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking: :What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking, :: From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view :: The sight which makes supposed terror true. :Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, :Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies; :She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears :Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes: :Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries: :: Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, :: In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights. :His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, :(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!) :May feel her heart, poor citizen, distress'd, :Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, :Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. :: This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, :: To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. :First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin :To sound a parley to his heartless foe, :Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, :The reason of this rash alarm to know, :Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; :: But she with vehement prayers urgeth still :: Under what colour he commits this ill. :Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face, :(That even for anger makes the lily pale, :And the red rose blush at her own disgrace) :Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale: :Under that colour am I come to scale :: Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine, :: For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. :'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide: :Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night, :Where thou with patience must my will abide, :My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, :Which I to conquer sought with all my might; :: But as reproof and reason beat it dead, :: By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. :'I see what crosses my attempt will bring; :I know what thorns the growing rose defends; :I think the honey guarded with a sting; :All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends: :But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends; :: Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, :: And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. :'I have debated, even in my soul, :What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed; :But nothing can Affection's course control, :Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. :I know repentant tears ensue the deed, :: Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity; :: Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.' :This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, :Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, :Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, :Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies: :So under his insulting falchion lies :: Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells :: With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells. :'Lucrece,' quoth he, 'this night I must enjoy thee: :If thou deny, then force must work my way, :For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee; :That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay. :To kill thine honour with thy life's decay; :: And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, :: Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. :'So thy surviving husband shall remain :The scornful mark of every open eye; :Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, :Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy: :And thou, the author of their obloquy, :: Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, :And sung by children in succeeding times. :'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: :The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; :A little harm, done to a great good end, :For lawful policy remains enacted. :The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted :: In a pure compound; being so applied, :: His venom in effect is purified. :'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, :Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot :The shame that from them no device can take, :The blemish that will never be forgot; :Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot: :: For marks descried in men's nativity :: Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' :Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye :He rouseth up himself and makes a pause; :While she, the picture of pure piety, :Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, :Pleads in a wilderness where are no laws, :: To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, :: Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. :But when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat, :In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, :From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, :Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, :Hindering their present fall by this dividing; :: So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, :: And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. :Yet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally, :While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth; :Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, :A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth: :His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth :: No penetrable entrance to her plaining: :: Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. :Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd :In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; :Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd, :Which to her oratory adds more grace. :She puts the period often from his place, :: And midst the sentence so her accent breaks, :: That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. :She conjures him by high almighty Jove, :By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, :By her untimely tears, her husband's love, :By holy human law, and common troth, :By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, :: That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, :: And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. :Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality :With such black payment as thou hast pretended; :Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee; :Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; :End thy ill aim before the shoot be ended: :: He is no woodman that doth bend his bow :: To strike a poor unseasonable doe. :'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me; :Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me; :Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me; :Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me; :My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee. :: If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, :: Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans: :'All which together, like a troubled ocean, :Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart; :To soften it with their continual motion; :For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. :O, if no harder than a stone thou art, :: Melt at my tears, and be compassionate! :: Soft pity enters at an iron gate. :'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee; :Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? :To all the host of heaven I complain me, :Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name. :Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same, :: Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; :: For kings like gods should govern every thing. :'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, :When thus thy vices bud before thy spring! :If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage, :What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king! :O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing :: From vassal actors can he wip'd away; :: Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. :'This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, :But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love: :With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, :When they in thee the like offences prove: :If but for fear of this, thy will remove; :: For princes are the glass, the school, the book, :: Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look. :'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn? :Must he in thee read lectures of such shame: :Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern :Authority for sin, warrant for blame, :To privilege dishonour in thy name? :: Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, :: And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. :'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee, :From a pure heart command thy rebel will: :Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, :For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. :Thy princely office how canst thou fulfill, :: When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say :: He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way? :'Think but how vile a spectacle it were :To view thy present trespass in another. :Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear; :Their own transgressions partially they smother: :This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. :: O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies :: That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes! :'To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, :Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier; :I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal; :Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire: :His true respect will 'prison false desire, :: And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, :: That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.' :'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide :Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. :Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, :And with the wind in greater fury fret: :The petty streams that pay a daily debt :: To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste, :: Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' :'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king; :And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood :Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, :Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. :If all these petty ills shall change thy good, :: Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hears'd, :: And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd. :'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave; :Thou nobly base, they basely dignified; :Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave; :Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride: :The lesser thing should not the greater hide; :: The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, :: But low shrubs whither at the cedar's root. :'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'-- :'No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee: :Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate, :Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee; :That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee :: Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, :: To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' :This said, he sets his foot upon the light, :For light and lust are deadly enemies; :Shame folded up in blind concealing night, :When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. :The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries; :: Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd :: Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: :For with the nightly linen that she wears :He pens her piteous clamours in her head; :Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears :That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. :O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed! :: The spots whereof could weeping purify, :: Her tears should drop on them perpetually. :But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, :And he hath won what he would lose again. :This forced league doth force a further strife; :This momentary joy breeds months of pain, :This hot desire converts to cold disdain: :: Pure Chastity is rifled of her store, :: And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. :Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, :Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, :Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk :The prey wherein by nature they delight; :So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night: :: His taste delicious, in digestion souring, :: Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring. :O deeper sin than bottomless conceit :Can comprehend in still imagination! :Drunken desire must vomit his receipt, :Ere he can see his own abomination. :While lust is in his pride no exclamation :: Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire, :: Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. :And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, :With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, :Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, :Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case: :The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace, :: For there it revels; and when that decays, :: The guilty rebel for remission prays. :So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, :Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd; :For now against himself he sounds this doom, :That through the length of times he stands disgrac'd: :Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd; :: To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, :: To ask the spotted princess how she fares. :She says, her subjects with foul insurrection :Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, :And by their mortal fault brought in subjection :Her immortality, and made her thrall :To living death, and pain perpetual; :: Which in her prescience she controlled still, :: But her foresight could not forestall their will. :Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth, :A captive victor that hath lost in gain; :Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, :The scar that will, despite of cure, remain; :Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. :: She hears the load of lust he left behind, :: And he the burthen of a guilty mind. :He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence; :She like a wearied lamb lies panting there; :He scowls, and hates himself for his offence; :She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; :He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear; :: She stays, exclaiming on the direful night; :: He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. :He thence departs a heavy convertite; :She there remains a hopeless castaway: :He in his speed looks for the morning light; :She prays she never may behold the day; :'For day,' quoth she, 'night's scapes doth open lay; :: And my true eyes have never practis'd how :: To cloak offences with a cunning brow. :'They think not but that every eye can see :The same disgrace which they themselves behold; :And therefore would they still in darkness be, :To have their unseen sin remain untold; :For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, :: And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, :: Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' :Here she exclaims against repose and rest, :And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. :She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, :And bids it leap from thence, where it may find :Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. :: Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite :: Against the unseen secrecy of night: :'O comfort-killing night, image of hell! :Dim register and notary of shame! :Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! :Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame! :Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame! :: Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator :: With close-tongued treason and the ravisher! :'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night! :Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, :Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, :Make war against proportion'd course of time! :Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb :: His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, :: Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. :'With rotten damps ravish the morning air; :Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick :The life of purity, the supreme fair, :Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick; :And let thy misty vapours march so thick, :: That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light :: May set at noon and make perpetual night. :'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night's child), :The silver-shining queen he would distain; :Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd, :Through Night's black bosom should not peep again: :So should I have co-partners in my pain: :: And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, :: As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. :'Where now I have no one to blush with me, :To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine, :To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; :But I alone alone must sit and pine, :Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, :: Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, :: Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. :'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, :Let not the jealous day behold that face :Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak :Immodesty lies martyr'd with disgrace! :Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, :: That all the faults which in thy reign are made, :: May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade! :'Make me not object to the tell-tale day! :The light will show, character'd in my brow, :The story of sweet chastity's decay, :The impious breach of holy wedlock vow: :Yea, the illiterate, that know not how :: To cipher what is writ in learned books, :: Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. :'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story :And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name; :The orator, to deck his oratory, :Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame: :Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, :: Will tie the hearers to attend each line, :: How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. :'Let my good name, that senseless reputation, :For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted: :If that be made a theme for disputation, :The branches of another root are rotted, :And undeserved reproach to him allotted, :: That is as clear from this attaint of mine :: As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. :'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace! :O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar! :Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, :And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, :How he in peace is wounded, not in war. :: Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, :: Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! :'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, :From me by strong assault it is bereft. :My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, :Have no perfection of my summer left, :But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft: :: In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, :: And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. :'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;-- :Yet for thy honour did I entertain him; :Coming from thee, I could not put him back, :For it had been dishonour to disdain him: :Besides, of weariness he did complain him, :: And talk'd of virtue:--O unlook'd-for evil, :: When virtue is profan'd in such a devil! :'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? :Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? :Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud? :Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? :Or kings be breakers of their own behests? :: But no perfection is so absolute, :: That some impurity doth not pollute. :'The aged man that coffers up his gold :Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits; :And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, :But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, :And useless barns the harvest of his wits; :: Having no other pleasure of his gain :: But torment that it cannot cure his pain. :'So then he hath it when he cannot use it, :And leaves it to be master'd by his young; :Who in their pride do presently abuse it: :Their father was too weak, and they too strong, :To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. :: The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, :: Even in the moment that we call them ours. :'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; :Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; :The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; :What virtue breeds iniquity devours: :We have no good that we can say is ours, :: But ill-annexed Opportunity :: Or kills his life or else his quality. :'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great: :'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason; :Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get; :Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season; :'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason; :: And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, :: Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. :'Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath; :Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; :Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth; :Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd! :Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud: :: Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, :: Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! :'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, :Thy private feasting to a public fast; :Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, :Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste: :Thy violent vanities can never last. :: How comes it then, vile Opportunity, :: Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? :'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, :And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd? :When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end? :Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd? :Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd? :: The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; :: But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. :'The patient dies while the physician sleeps; :The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; :Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; :Advice is sporting while infection breeds; :Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds: :: Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, :: Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. :'When truth and virtue have to do with thee, :A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid; :They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee, :He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd :As well to hear as grant what he hath said. :: My Collatine would else have come to me :: When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. :'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft; :Guilty of perjury and subornation; :Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift; :Guilty of incest, that abomination: :An accessory by thine inclination :: To all sins past, and all that are to come, :: From the creation to the general doom. :'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, :Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care, :Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, :Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare; :Thou nursest all and murtherest all that are: :: O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! :: Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. :'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, :Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? :Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me :To endless date of never-ending woes? :Time's office is to fine the hate of foes; :: To eat up errors by opinion bred, :: Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. :'Time's glory is to calm contending kings, :To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, :To stamp the seal of time in aged things, :To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, :To wrong the wronger till he render right; :: To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, :: And smear with dust their glittering golden towers: :'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, :To feed oblivion with decay of things, :To blot old books and alter their contents, :To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, :To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs; :: To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, :: And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel; :'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter, :To make the child a man, the man a child, :To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, :To tame the unicorn and lion wild, :To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd; :: To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, :: And waste huge stones with little water-drops. :'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, :Unless thou couldst return to make amends? :One poor retiring minute in an age :Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, :Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends: :: O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back, :: I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack! :'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity, :With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight: :Devise extremes beyond extremity, :To make him curse this cursed crimeful night: :Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright; :: And the dire thought of his committed evil :: Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. :'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, :Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans; :Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, :To make him moan; but pity not his moans: :Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones; :: And let mild women to him lose their mildness, :: Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. :'Let him have time to tear his curled hair, :Let him have time against himself to rave, :Let him have time of Time's help to despair, :Let him have time to live a loathed slave, :Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave; :: And time to see one that by alms doth live :: Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. :'Let him have time to see his friends his foes, :And merry fools to mock at him resort; :Let him have time to mark how slow time goes :In time of sorrow, and how swift and short :His time of folly and his time of sport: :: And ever let his unrecalling crime :: Have time to wail the abusing of his time. :'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, :Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill! :At his own shadow let the thief run mad! :Himself himself seek every hour to kill! :Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill: :: For who so base would such an office have :: As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave? :The baser is he, coming from a king, :To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. :The mightier man, the mightier is the thing :That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate; :For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. :: The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, :: But little stars may hide them when they list. :'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, :And unperceived fly with the filth away; :But if the like the snow-white swan desire, :The stain upon his silver down will stay. :Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day: :: Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, :: But eagles gazed upon with every eye. :'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools! :Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! :Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools; :Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; :To trembling clients be you mediators: :: For me, I force not argument a straw, :: Since that my case is past the help of law. :'In vain I rail at Opportunity, :At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night; :In vain I cavil with mine infamy, :In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite: :This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. :: The remedy indeed to do me good :: Is to let forth my foul-defil'd blood. :'Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? :Honour thyself to rid me of this shame; :For if I die, my honour lives in thee; :But if I live, thou livest in my defame: :Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, :: And wast afear'd to scratch her wicked foe, :: Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' :This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, :To find some desperate instrument of death: :But this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth, :To make more vent for passage of her breath; :Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth :: As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes, :: Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. :'In vain,' quoth she, 'I live, and seek in vain :Some happy mean to end a hapless life. :I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, :Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife: :But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife: :: So am I now:--O no, that cannot be; :: Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. :'O! that is gone for which I sought to live, :And therefore now I need not fear to die. :To clear this spot by death, at least I give :A badge of fame to slander's livery; :A dying life to living infamy; :: Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, :: To burn the guiltless casket where it lay! :'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know :The stained taste of violated troth; :I will not wrong thy true affection so, :To flatter thee with an infringed oath; :This bastard graff shall never come to growth: :: He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute :: That thou art doting father of his fruit. :Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, :Nor laugh with his companions at thy state; :But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought :Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. :For me, I am the mistress of my fate, :: And with my trespass never will dispense, :: Till life to death acquit my forced offence. :'I will not poison thee with my attaint, :Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; :My sable ground of sin I will not paint, :To hide the truth of this false night's abuses; :My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices, :: As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, :: Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.' :By this; lamenting Philomel had ended :The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, :And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended :To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow :Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow: :: But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, :: And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. :Revealing day through every cranny spies, :And seems to point her out where she sits weeping, :To whom she sobbing speaks: 'O eye of eyes, :Why pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping; :Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping: :: Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, :: For day hath nought to do what's done by night.' :Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: :True grief is fond and testy as a child, :Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees. :Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; :Continuance tames the one: the other wild, :: Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still :: With too much labour drowns for want of skill. :So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, :Holds disputation with each thing she views, :And to herself all sorrow doth compare; :No object but her passion's strength renews; :And as one shifts, another straight ensues: :: Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words; :: Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. :The little birds that tune their morning's joy :Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. :For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy; :Sad souls are slain in merry company: :Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society: :: True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd :: When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. :'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore; :He ten times pines that pines beholding food; :To see the salve doth make the wound ache more; :Great grief grieves most at that would do it good; :Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood; :: Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows; :: Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. :'You mocking birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb :Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts, :And in my hearing be you mute and dumb! :(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; :A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:) :: Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears; :: Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. :'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, :Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair: :As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, :So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, :And with deep groans the diapason bear: :: For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, :: While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. :'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, :To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, :To imitate thee well, against my heart :Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye; :Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. :: These means, as frets upon an instrument, :: Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment. :'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, :As shaming any eye should thee behold, :Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, :That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, :Will we find out; and there we will unfold :: To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds: :: Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.' :As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, :Wildly determining which way to fly, :Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, :That cannot tread the way out readily; :So with herself is she in mutiny, :: To live or die which of the twain were better, :: When life is sham'd, and Death reproach's debtor. :'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack! what were it, :But with my body my poor soul's pollution? :They that lose half with greater patience bear it :Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. :That mother tries a merciless conclusion :: Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one, :: Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. :'My body or my soul, which was the dearer, :When the one pure, the other made divine? :Whose love of either to myself was nearer? :When both were kept for heaven and Collatine? :Ah, me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, :: His leaves will wither, and his sap decay; :: So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. :'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, :Her mansion batter'd by the enemy; :Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, :Grossly engirt with daring infamy: :Then let it not be call'd impiety, :: If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole :: Through which I may convey this troubled soul. :'Yet die I will not till my Collatine :Have heard the cause of my untimely death; :That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, :Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. :My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, :: Which by him tainted shall for him be spent, :: And as his due writ in my testament. :'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife :That wounds my body so dishonoured. :'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life; :The one will live, the other being dead: :So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred; :: For in my death I murther shameful scorn: :: My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. :'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, :What legacy shall I bequeath to thee? :My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast, :By whose example thou reveng'd mayst be. :How Tarquin must be used, read it in me: :: Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, :: And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. :'This brief abridgement of my will I make: :My soul and body to the skies and ground; :My resolution, husband, do thou take; :Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound; :My shame be his that did my fame confound; :: And all my fame that lives disburs'd be :: To those that live, and think no shame of me. :'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will; :How was I overseen that thou shalt see it! :My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill; :My life's foul deed my life's fair end shall free it. :Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say "so be it:" :: Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee; :: Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.' :This plot of death when sadly she had laid, :And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, :With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, :Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies; :For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. :: Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so :: As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. :Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, :With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, :And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, :(For why her face wore sorrow's livery,) :But durst not ask of her audaciously :: Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, :: Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. :But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, :Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; :Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet :Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy :Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky, :: Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, :: Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. :A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, :Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling: :One justly weeps; the other takes in hand :No cause, but company, of her drops spilling: :Their gentle sex to weep are often willing: :: Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts, :: And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts. :For men have marble, women waxen minds, :And therefore are they form'd as marble will; :The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds :Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill: :Then call them not the authors of their ill, :: No more than wax shall be accounted evil, :: Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. :Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, :Lays open all the little worms that creep; :In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain :Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep: :Through crystal walls each little mote will peep: :: Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks, :: Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. :No man inveigb against the wither'd flower, :But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd! :Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, :Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild :Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd :: With men's abuses! those proud lords, to blame, :: Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. :The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, :Assail'd by night with circumstances strong :Of present death, and shame that might ensue :By that her death, to do her husband wrong: :Such danger to resistance did belong; :: The dying fear through all her body spread; :: And who cannot abuse a body dead? :By this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak :To the poor counterfeit of her complaining: :'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break :Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining? :If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, :: Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood: :: If tears could help, mine own would do me good. :'But tell me, girl, when went'--(and there she stay'd :Till after a deep groan) 'Tarquin from, hence?' :'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, :'The more to blame my sluggard negligence: :Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense; :: Myself was stirring ere the break of day, :: And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. :'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold, :She would request to know your heaviness.' :'O peace!' quoth Lucrece: 'if it should be told, :The repetition cannot make it less; :For more it is than I can well express: :: And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, :: When more is felt than one hath power to tell. :'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen-- :Yet save that labour, for I have them here. :What should I say?--One of my husband's men :Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear :A letter to my lord, my love, my dear; :: Bid him with speed prepare to carry it; :: The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.' :Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, :First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: :Conceit and grief an eager combat fight; :What wit sets down is blotted straight with will; :This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill: :: Much like a press of people at a door, :: Throng her inventions, which shall go before. :At last she thus begins:--'Thou worthy lord :Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, :Health to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford :(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see) :Some present speed to come and visit me: :: So, I commend me from our house in grief: :: My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.' :Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, :Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. :By this short schedule Collatine may know :Her grief, but not her grief's true quality; :She dares not thereof make discovery, :: Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, :: Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse. :Besides, the life and feeling of her passion :She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her; :When sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion :Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her :From that suspicion which the world my might bear her. :: To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter :: With words, till action might become them better. :To see sad sights moves more than hear them told; :For then the eye interprets to the ear :The heavy motion that it doth behold, :When every part a part of woe doth bear. :'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear: :: Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, :: And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. :Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ :'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;' :The post attends, and she delivers it, :Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast :As lagging fowls before the northern blast. :: Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems: :: Extremely still urgeth such extremes. :The homely villain court'sies to her low; :And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye :Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, :And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. :But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie :: Imagine every eye beholds their blame; :: For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame: :When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect :Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. :Such harmless creatures have a true respect :To talk in deeds, while others saucily :Promise more speed, but do it leisurely: :: Even so this pattern of the worn-out age :: Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. :His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, :That two red fires in both their faces blaz'd; :She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust, :And, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd; :Her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd: :: The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish, :: The more she thought he spied in her some blemish. :But long she thinks till he return again, :And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. :The weary time she cannot entertain, :For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan: :So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, :: That she her plaints a little while doth stay, :: Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. :At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece :Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy; :Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, :For Helen's rape the city to destroy, :Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy; :: Which the conceited painter drew so proud, :: As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. :A thousand lamentable objects there, :In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: :Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, :Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife: :The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife; :: The dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, :: Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. :There might you see the labouring pioner :Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust; :And from the towers of Troy there would appear :The very eyes of men through loopholes thrust, :Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust: :: Such sweet observance in this work was had, :: That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. :In great commanders grace and majesty :You might behold, triumphing in their faces; :In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; :And here and there the painter interlaces :Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces; :: Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, :: That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble. :In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art :Of physiognomy might one behold! :The face of either 'cipher'd either's heart; :Their face their manners most expressly told: :In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd; :: But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent :: Show'd deep regard and smiling government. :There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, :As't were encouraging the Greeks to fight; :Making such sober action with his hand :That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight: :In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, :: Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly :: Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. :About him were a press of gaping faces, :Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; :All jointly listening, but with several graces, :As if some mermaid did their ears entice; :Some high, some low, the painter was so nice: :: The scalps of many, almost hid behind, :: To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind. :Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, :His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear; :Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and red; :Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear; :And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, :: As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, :: It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. :For much imaginary work was there; :Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, :That for Achilles' image stood his spear, :Grip'd in an armed hand; himself, behind, :Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind: :: A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, :: Stood for the whole to be imagined, :And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy :When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field, :Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy :To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield; :And to their hope they such odd action yield, :: That through their light joy seemed to appear, :: (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear, :And, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought, :To Simois' reedy banks, the red blood ran, :Whose waves to imitate the battle sought :With swelling ridges; and their ranks began :To break upon the galled shore, and than :: Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks, :: They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. :To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, :To find a face where all distress is stell'd. :Many she sees where cares have carved some, :But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, :Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, :: Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, :: Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. :In her the painter had anatomiz'd :Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's reign: :Her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis'd; :Of what she was no semblance did remain: :Her blue blood, chang'd to black in every vein, :: Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, :: Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. :On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, :And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, :Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, :And bitter words to ban her cruel foes: :The painter was no god to lend her those; :: And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong, :: To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. :'Poor instrument,' quoth she, 'without a sound, :I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue; :And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, :And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong, :And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long; :: And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes :: Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. :'Show me the strumpet that began this stir, :That with my nails her beauty I may tear. :Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur :This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear; :Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here: :: And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, :: The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. :'Why should the private pleasure of some one :Become the public plague of many mo? :Let sin, alone committed, light alone :Upon his head that hath transgressed so. :Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe: :: For one's offence why should so many fall, :: To plague a private sin in general? :'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, :Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds; :Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, :And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, :And one man's lust these many lives confounds: :: Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, :: Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.' :Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes: :For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell, :Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; :Then little strength rings out the doleful knell: :So Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell :: To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow; :: She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow. :She throws her eyes about the painting round, :And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament: :At last she sees a wretched image bound, :That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent: :His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content; :: Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, :: So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. :In him the painter labour'd with his skill :To hide deceit, and give the harmless show :An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, :A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe; :Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so :: That blushing red no guilty instance gave, :: Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. :But, like a constant and confirmed devil, :He entertain'd a show so seeming just, :And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, :That jealousy itself cold not mistrust :False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust :: Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms, :: Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. :The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew :For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story :The credulous Old Priam after slew; :Whose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory :Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, :: And little stars shot from their fixed places, :: When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces. :This picture she advisedly perus'd, :And chid the painter for his wondrous skill; :Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd; :So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill: :And still on him she gaz'd; and gazing still, :: Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, :: That she concludes the picture was belied. :'It cannot be,' quoth she, 'that so much guile'-- :(She would have said) 'can lurk in such a look;' :But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while, :And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took; :'It cannot be' she in that sense forsook, :: And turn'd it thus: 'It cannot be, I find, :: But such a face should bear a wicked mind: :'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, :So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, :(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,) :To me came Tarquin armed; so beguil'd :With outward honesty, but yet defil'd :: With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish, :: So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish. :'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, :To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. :Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise? :For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds; :His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds; :: Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity, :: Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. :'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell; :For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, :And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell; :These contraries such unity do hold, :Only to flatter fools, and make them bold; :: So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter, :: That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.' :Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, :That patience is quite beaten from her breast. :She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, :Comparing him to that unhappy guest :Whose deed hath made herself herself detest; :: At last she smilingly with this gives o'er; :: 'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be sore.' :Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, :And time doth weary time with her complaining. :She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, :And both she thinks too long with her remaining: :Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. :: Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps; :: And they that watch see time how slow it creeps. :Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, :That she with painted images hath spent; :Being from the feeling of her own grief brought :By deep surmise of others' detriment: :Losing her woes in shows of discontent. :: It easeth some, though none it ever cur'd, :: To think their dolour others have endur'd. :But now the mindful messenger, come back, :Brings home his lord and other company; :Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black: :And round about her tear-distained eye :Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky. :: These water-galls in her dim element :: Foretell new storms to those already spent. :Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, :Amazedly in her sad face he stares: :Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw, :Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. :He hath no power to ask her how she fares, :: Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, :: Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. :At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, :And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event :Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand? :Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent? :Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent? :: Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, :: And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' :Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, :Ere once she can discharge one word of woe: :At length address'd to answer his desire, :She modestly prepares to let them know :Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe; :: While Collatine and his consorted lords :: With sad attention long to hear her words. :And now this pale swan in her watery nest :Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending: :'Few words,' quoth she, 'shall fit the trespass best, :Where no excuse can give the fault amending: :In me more woes than words are now depending; :: And my laments would be drawn out too long, :: To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. :'Then be this all the task it hath to say:-- :Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed :A stranger came, and on that pillow lay :Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head; :And what wrong else may be imagined :: By foul enforcement might be done to me, :: From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free. :'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, :With shining falchion in my chamber came :A creeping creature, with a flaming light, :And softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame, :And entertain my love; else lasting shame :: On thee and thine this night I will inflict, :: If thou my love's desire do contradict. :'For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he, :Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, :I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee :And swear I found you where you did fulfil :The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill :: The lechers in their deed: this act will be :: My fame and thy perpetual infamy. :'With this, I did begin to start and cry, :And then against my heart he sets his sword, :Swearing, unless I took all patiently, :I should not live to speak another word; :So should my shame still rest upon record, :: And never be forgot in mighty Rome :: The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. :'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, :And far the weaker with so strong a fear: :My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak; :No rightful plea might plead for justice there: :His scarlet lust came evidence to swear :: That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes; :: And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies. :'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse! :Or at the least this refuge let me find; :Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, :Immaculate and spotless is my mind; :That was not forc'd; that never was inclin'd :: To accessary yieldings, but still pure :: Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' :Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, :With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe, :With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, :From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow :The grief away that stops his answer so: :: But wretched as he is he strives in vain; :: What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. :As through an arch the violent roaring tide :Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste; :Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride :Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast; :In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past: :: Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw. :: To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. :Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, :And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh: :'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth :Another power; no flood by raining slaketh. :My woe too sensible thy passion maketh :: More feeling-painful: let it then suffice :: To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. :'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, :For she that was thy Lucrece,--now attend me; :Be suddenly revenged on my foe, :Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me :From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me :: Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die; :: For sparing justice feeds iniquity. :'But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she, :(Speaking to those that came with Collatine) :'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, :With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine; :For 'tis a meritorious fair design :: To chase injustice with revengeful arms: :: Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.' :At this request, with noble disposition :Each present lord began to promise aid, :As bound in knighthood to her imposition, :Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. :But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, :: The protestation stops. 'O, speak,' quoth she, : 'How may this forced stain be wip'd from me? :'What is the quality of mine offence, :Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance? :May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, :My low-declined honour to advance? :May any terms acquit me from this chance? :: The poison'd fountain clears itself again; :: And why not I from this compelled stain? :With this, they all at once began to say, :Her body's stain her mind untainted clears; :While with a joyless smile she turns away :The face, that map which deep impression bears :Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears. :: 'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living, :: By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving. :Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, :She throws forth Tarquin's name: 'He, he,' she says, :But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak; :Till after many accents and delays, :Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, :: She utters this: 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, :: That guides this hand to give this wound to me.' :Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast :A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath'd: :That blow did bail it from the deep unrest :Of that polluted prison where it breath'd: :Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd :: Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly :: Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. :Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, :Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew; :Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed, :Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw; :And from the purple fountain Brutus drew :: The murderous knife, and, as it left the place, :: Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase; :And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide :In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood :Circles her body in on every side, :Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood :Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. :: Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, :: And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd. :About the mourning and congealed face :Of that black blood a watery rigol goes, :Which seems to weep upon the tainted place: :And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes, :Corrupted blood some watery token shows; :: And blood untainted still doth red abide, :: Blushing at that which is so putrified. :'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries, :'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv'd. :If in the child the father's image lies, :Where shall I live now Lucrece is unliv'd? :Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd :: If children pre-decease progenitors, :: We are their offspring, and they none of ours. :'Poor broken glass, I often did behold :In thy sweet semblance my old age new born; :But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, :Shows me a bare-bon'd death by time outworn; :O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn! :: And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, :: That I no more can see what once I was! :'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer, :If they surcease to be that should survive. :Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, :And leave the faltering feeble souls alive? :The old bees die, the young possess their hive: :: Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see :: Thy father die, and not thy father thee!' :By this starts Collatine as from a dream, :And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; :And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream :He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, :And counterfeits to die with her a space; :: Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, :: And live, to be revenged on her death. :The deep vexation of his inward soul :Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue; :Who, mad that sorrow should his use control, :Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, :Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng :: Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid, :: That no man could distinguish what he said. :Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain, :But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. :This windy tempest, till it blow up rain, :Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more; :At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: :: Then son and father weep with equal strife, :: Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife. :The one doth call her his, the other his, :Yet neither may possess the claim they lay, :The father says 'She's mine,' 'O, mine she is,' :Replies her husband: 'do not take away :My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say :: He weeps for her, for she was only mine, :: And only must be wail'd by Collatine.' :'O,' quoth Lucretius, 'I did give that life :Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' :'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife, :I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.' :'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd :: The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life, :: Answer'd their cries, 'My daughter!' and 'My wife!' :Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, :Seeing such emulation in their woe, :Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, :Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. :He with the Romans was esteemed so :: As silly-jeering idiots are with kings, :: For sportive words, and uttering foolish things: :But now he throws that shallow habit by, :Wherein deep policy did him disguise; :And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, :To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. :'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, 'arise; :: Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, :: Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school. :'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? :Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds? :Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, :For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds? :Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds: :: Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, :: To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. :'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart :In such relenting dew of lamentations, :But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, :To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, :That they will suffer these abominations, : (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac'd,) :: By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas'd. :'Now, by the Capitol that we adore, :And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd, :By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store, :By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd, :And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd :: Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, :: We will revenge the death of this true wife.' :This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, :And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow; :And to his protestation urg'd the rest, :Who, wondering at him, did his words allow; :Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow; :: And that deep vow, which Brutus made before, :: He doth again repeat, and that they swore. :When they had sworn to this advised doom, :They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence; :To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, :And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence: :Which being done with speedy diligence, :: The Romans plausibly did give consent :: To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 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